Arc of Fire

Chapter 630: Chapter 72 Thus, the Sixth Army Group chose to survive

December 7th, 915, Sixth Army Group Headquarters.

All the middle and senior officers who had not yet fallen ill were gathered in front of General Frederick’s window.

"General,” the Deputy Officer hesitated as he started to speak, turned his head to look at the others, then was frightened by everyone’s gaze and quickly turned back, “General, our non-combat attrition has already reached fifty percent. When we handed over the seriously ill to the Anteans, many simply surrendered and defected to their side.”

General Frederick sighed and sat up—then almost lay straight back down, as a severe dizzy spell caused by cerebral ischemia cut off all his thoughts.

The Deputy Officer hurriedly stepped forward to support him: “General!”

"I’m fine,” Frederick waved his hand, “So, you’ve come to urge me to surrender?”

Deputy Officer: “Do you still think we can resist?”

In the history of Earth, the Sixth Army Group had the strength to break through; after all, the Russians on Earth had suffered heavy losses, leading to uneven soldier quality. Many of the troops involved in Operation Uranus were green recruits, whose combat experience and morale were far below that of the Sturmtiger.

But the situation of the Prosen Sixth Army Group was completely different. They faced Ante Troops with numerous surviving veterans, including many with the Guards prefix within the encircling forces. These veterans, tempered by the fires of war, were experienced and harbored a deep-seated hatred for Prosens, sworn to bury them all.

And the Sixth Army Group was already in a severe state of ammo and supply shortage before being encircled, which quickly became even more dire after the encirclement.

Frederick did not know the details of the other timeline, but he was very clear about his own troops’ predicament.

Breaking out was no longer possible; the remaining options were only two: to die or to surrender.

The General glanced at the officers, thinking that they did not seem willing to sacrifice their lives for a cause.

Deputy Officer: “General, we have fought to the last moment, continuing our offensive effort until we were encircled. We have already done enough for the Empire.”

General: “Have you considered what will become of Admiral Rokossovsky’s million-strong army suddenly with nothing to do if we surrender?”

"That’s no longer our concern,” said the Deputy Officer. “Our war has ended.”

The General started coughing, and the Deputy Officer hurried to pat his back.

After several seconds, Frederick finally stopped and took a long breath, then he looked at the Deputy Officer: “Do you remember the day you became my Deputy Officer? Your father and your wife accompanied you to visit me.”

"I remember.”

Frederick: “Your father even wore his old military uniform from his era, with his Brigadier insignia. Your wife wore a blue dress, holding your hand.”

The Deputy Officer was puzzled: “Yes, General, that was seven years ago.”

"Have you ever thought about what will happen to them if we surrender? The Imperial Ministry will not let them go, they’ll be treated as traitors, turncoats!”

The Deputy Officer was at a loss for words, but someone from among the officers behind him said, “We are only surrendering because we have no other choice after fighting to the last. If the Emperor mistreats our families over this matter, he will lose the loyalty of his officers. I don’t think His Majesty will do such a thing.”

General Frederick looked at the speaker: “Yes, perhaps not.”

Suddenly, the sound of engines came from outside.

Frederick turned his head in confusion towards the window: “What’s going on? Do we still have tanks that can operate?”

"Sounds like an airplane,” the Deputy Officer said. “The engine noise has a distinct Doppler effect; it’s approaching us rapidly.”

Then a soldier came in from outside: “Report, the air defense lookout observed one of our reconnaissance planes flying at ultra-low altitude, heading towards Headquarters.”

Everyone looked at each other in disbelief.

Frederick threw off the blankets: “Come, let’s take a look.”

Due to the cold, he was also wearing the military uniform under the blankets, which were now all wrinkled from lying in bed for days.

The Deputy Officer hurriedly brought over his coat and draped it over the General.

The nearly-recovered General moved with haste, not even buttoning up his coat, as he stepped out into the icy, snowy outdoors to look up.

The weather was clear today, with not a cloud in the sky.

The sound of the airplane’s engine became louder, coming from the west.

Finally, one FW189 came into view and dropped a “bomb.”

The Deputy Officer rushed to tackle the General, but was loudly dismissed by him: “Don’t panic! High Command wouldn’t send an FW189 just to drop a precision bomb on us.”

The “bomb” also hit the ground and disappeared into the snow in an instant.

Frederick: “Quick, dig it out!”

Several guards who were still able to move rushed forward with their Sapper Shovels and after some digging, finally unearthed something that looked like an auxiliary fuel tank from the snow pit.

Frederick: “Open it!”

"We don’t have a screwdriver!” a soldier reported loudly.

"Get one from the anti-aircraft battery! They’re out of ammo, but they should still have a screwdriver to repair the guns!” General Frederick’s voice rose a notch.

A soldier trudged through the snow towards the yard.

Ten minutes later, the auxiliary fuel tank was opened, and the first thing that caught everyone’s eye was a Marshal’s Scepter with the Imperial Eagle reflecting sunlight at its head.

Next to the Scepter was an appointment letter with a gilt cover, and letters sealed with the Prosen royal seal.

The soldiers didn’t dare to touch these items, and after opening the “auxiliary fuel tank,” they stepped back and stood aside.

The Deputy Officer stepped forward to pick up the items and came to General Frederick, “General… no, Marshal, take a look at this

Marshal Frederick did not touch the Marshal’s Scepter, but instead took the letter, roughly opened the envelope, pulled out the letter, and read softly, “Respected William von Frederick, I clearly remember to this day, when at the Prosen Military Academy, you were my infantry tactics instructor. Your subtle understanding of the art of war fascinated me.

"Now, although you are under siege, I firmly believe in your Prosen military quality and honor. I know you are certainly being coerced by those in the military who are afraid to die, but, you must also be clear that if you make the wrong choice at this time, the Prosen homeland will suffer a severe blow, and it may even lead to the extinction of the nation.

"Today, more than ever, the fatherland needs every one of its sons to fulfill their duties with utmost dedication. With highest respect, Prosen Emperor Reinhard.”

Marshal Frederick sighed and passed the letter to the Chief of Staff.

The Chief of Staff glanced at the letter without reading it closely and said, “It’s worded very harshly; it’s obvious that they hope for us all to die.”

Frederick picked up the Marshal’s Scepter and toyed with it in his hands.

"I… once longed for this immensely. Of course, as a soldier, who doesn’t aspire to become a Marshal?” Frederick said with a self-deprecating smile, “I could never have dreamed that I would receive my long-coveted scepter in such circumstances.”

The Army Group Chief of Staff laughed, “After all, you have reached it, you are now at the pinnacle of a military career

"No, the pinnacle of a military career is to win the war.” Frederick tapped his palm lightly with the Marshal’s Scepter, “Not like this.”

Silence fell, the officers looked at each other, while the rank-and-file soldiers coerced into this affair could only stand awkwardly.

Finally, Marshal Frederick, as if he had made up his mind, said to the Deputy Officer, “Your wife and father will not suffer retaliation from the Imperial Ministry, because I will take responsibility for this defeat, like a responsible and honorable soldier. Chief of Staff, send an envoy to the Anteans, we agree to surrender.”

The officers all shown expressions of relief, while the soldiers dared not show any emotion.

Frederick continued to tap his palm with the Marshal’s Scepter, “All the consequences, I will bear alone.”

December 8th.

Wang Zhong stood on May 5th Street, waiting for the appointed time to arrive.

All Prosen Soldiers within his heightened sense range had lost their will to fight, being identified as neutral.

Soon, he noticed a group of high-ranking officers walking towards him on foot, with the foremost person carrying a white flag.

Wang Zhong: “They surprisingly didn’t wave white underpants.”

Pavlov: “What?”

"I’m talking about the soldiers coming out of that building.”

A group of Prosen Soldiers, shivering, came out of the building holding white sheets, placed their weapons in a designated area, and then rushed desperately towards the food pots.

Just then, a familiar face suddenly appeared, taking a flash photo at the surrendering Prosen Soldiers. The “explosion” of the flash made many Prosen Soldiers reflexively duck, their bread sinking into the snow.

Wang Zhong frowned and turned to look for another familiar face, and saw Mike the reporter grinning as he approached.

"I just felt you guys would certainly not miss this.”

Mike laughed, “When you personally commanded the latest tanks to send the Prosens’ stronghold to the sky, I missed it. This time I didn’t want to miss such big news again. Three hundred thousand Prosen Soldiers surrender!”

Wang Zhong: “By their organizational structure, it’s six hundred and fifty thousand. The Prosens submitted their complete order of battle yesterday, and it lists a total strength of six hundred and fifty thousand.

"In reality, it’s probably over two hundred thousand surrendering today, plus about two hundred thousand who have been surrendering bit by bit, the losses for the Prosens are quite large.

"It’s just unknown how many are the results of General Winter’s work.”

"It’s all your achievements, all of them,” Mike the reporter laughed.

Wang Zhong: “You still talk a good game.”

Mike: “Of course. By the way, can my partner capture a historic moment today? A Prosen Marshal surrendering to the Ante Army?”

Wang Zhong raised an eyebrow; he had actually seen through the external modifications that Marshal Frederick was not among the arriving officers, but at this moment he could only continue to pretend, “Let’s hope so. Then I want to share a cup of wine on the battlefield with Marshal Frederick.”

Mike: “Like the naval officers of the age of sailing warships? Not bad, this theme will be popular.”

Wang Zhong: “Then you should thank me.”

Frederick sat at his desk, looking at the photos of his wife and daughter and the Marshal’s Scepter.

A loaded Luger pistol lay on the table.

As long as he, the Marshal, committed suicide for his country, the other members of the Sixth Army Group would not be pursued by the Imperial Ministry. This was the last thing he could do for the soldiers of the Sixth Army Group.

"But,” Frederick gently stroked his wife’s cheek in the photo, “but it’s such a difficult decision, Erika. You wouldn’t believe how much I miss you.”

He sighed, turned the photo face down on the desk, picked up the pistol, and put the barrel in his mouth.

The moment he pulled the trigger, nothing happened.

Frederick seriously checked the gun and concluded that the problem lay with the bullets.

He ejected the dud round, chambered a new one, and tried to put the gun in his mouth again—however, this time he hesitated.

After a long silence, Frederick turned his wife and daughter’s photo over again, tossed the gun into the drawer.

He stood up and called out to the outside, “Quick! Notify the surrender delegation that I await Admiral Rokossovsky’s arrival at the Headquarters! I must surrender in my own command post! After all, I am a Marshal!”

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